


The Herald of Snowballs and Prayer

by Exposedma



Series: The Herald of... [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Job, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exposedma/pseuds/Exposedma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel resisted the urge to kiss Cullen good morning, resisted the urge to take his hand and embrace him, and resisted calling him by name, knowing it would cause her to flush.  Affection was becoming easier, and it was the absence of it in front of the soldiers and court that was becoming difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Herald of Snowballs and Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> So, this piece has gone through some pretty extensive editing. I'm much happier with it, I hope you are as well! :) Big thanks to Ballades for helping me polish it up.

The hot springs below Skyhold, coupled with the ancient magic that cling to its bones, keeps the fortress livable in the mountaintops. It is, however, not immune to the rapidly changing weather systems that plague the Frostbacks. Waking to a blanket of snow is not uncommon, though it’s usually melted by midday. Isabel is roused by the bracing chill air on one such morning, and she is loath to leave her warm bed in exchange for the training yard. When she does finally emerge, her breath is puffing out before her in smoky tendrils. Cullen is already running drills. Isabel’s rank and her relationship with her general afford her certain privileges, unlike a tardy recruit. Her late arrival is met with the commander’s crooked grin and warm eyes, instead of a dressing-down and twenty laps around the fortress, in full plate armor.

“Good morning, commander.” Isabel resists the urge to kiss him good morning, resists the urge to take his hand and embrace him, and resists calling him by name, knowing it would cause her to flush. Affection was becoming easier, and it was the absence of it in front of the soldiers and court that was becoming difficult. 

“Inquisitor, it’s good of you to join us.” The low timbre of his voice warmed her in the cool morning air. 

She grabbed a training sword and paired up with an awed recruit, slashing and blocking to Cullen’s curt orders. Muscle memory takes over, and she gives the new recruit a sore shield arm. Cullen walks through the ranks, correcting stances, adjusting swords and shields as he goes. He stops by her partner, fixing the young woman’s grip, and when she slashes next it rings in Isabel’s shield arm. Isabel praises her, and Cullen grins before moving on to the next pair. The morning moves forward, the snow on the ground melting and sticking to the bottoms of boots.

“Maker’s balls!” Cullen’s sudden angry curse breaks Isabel’s focus. She looks up in time to see Cullen take what must be a second snowball to the side of his head. Somewhere above her she hears Sera’s distinct peal of laughter. 

She shouldn’t laugh, but his look of pure indignation and the snow on his face and hair has Isabel giggling. She covers her mouth, trying to stifle herself; it would not do to be laughing at Cullen in front of his recruits. He catches her eyes and she’s biting her lip, offering a halfhearted sorry, trying her best to stem the flow of laughter. She can’t stop,that is, until she gets pelted with a snowball smack dab in the middle of her face. The recruits have stopped their drills. They watch wide-eyed as their commander and inquisitor are targeted by the morning prank. Unsure if their laughter would be as easily forgiven as Sera’s. The snow falls from Isabel’s face with a splat, and it’s Cullen who snorts out a chuckle first. 

“Sera!” Isabel looks up towards her usual perch on the tavern roof, trying to sound angry and serious. 

“That one wasn’t me!” The elf argues, pointing towards the guilty party. 

“Chargers, take aim!” Bull gives her a wicked grin. He signals to his boys to throw their arsenal of snowballs at not only Isabel and Cullen, but the recruits as a whole. 

“Commander, it seems we’re under attack.” She blocks her face but gets pelted in the back of the head, the snow dripping down the back of her tunic. She squeals at the cold, a high pitched ridiculous sound. 

“Recruits, your Inquisitor is under attack, defend her at all costs. To arms!” Cullen is the first to bend and pack a handful of snow, aiming at Krem. “Attack!” His war cry was loud and resonated throughout the training field. 

Isabel could only laugh, leaving herself open to more than a few snowballs. She was fairly certain Sera was aiming for her lower back, trying to get snow into her breeches. Her suspicion is confirmed when she feels a handful of snow slide between her cheeks. Isabel yelps and dances away to hide behind Cullen, throwing what she can while using him as cover. The recruits, feeling playful, and confident there will be no lasting repercussions, started turning on their commander in the chaos. 

“Cullen, I believe we may be overrun.” Isabel’s breathless, her nose bright red and her cheeks pink and indented with rarely seen dimples. 

“Traitors!” he calls out before earning them both a new volley. He grins at her, his carefully combed hair damp and curling, his face flushed. “Inquisitor, I’m calling a retreat.” He takes her hand, giving her an impish grin. “Follow me.” 

He holds tight to her hand, and starts running, practically dragging her along, she has no choice but to follow him, and soon she’s only a stride behind him. They climb the steps up to the ramparts. Isabel doesn’t need to look behind her to know they’re being pursued, but they have a good head start. Cullen’s sudden retreat took Bull and the others by surprise. Cullen nearly yanks her arm off as he turns down the stairs towards the garden. Below, Mother Giselle and the other sisters and clerics are exiting the small chantry from ringing in Terce. Cullen gives her a crooked grin. He half-catches her when he suddenly slows to a walk and she is nearly toppled by the change of pace. He’s still holding her hand, but his grip has relaxed. He whispers a soft sorry under his breath. He nods to Mother Giselle and Isabel imitates the action; she gives them a warm smile as they slip into the now empty chantry. Cullen drops her hand once inside and closes the door. 

“What is your game?” Isabel asks, but Cullen covers her mouth, his hand shushing her. 

“Quiet.” He pulls his hand away, and with the other on her waist walks her backwards beside the door, until she bumps softly against the wall. “Listen.” His amber eyes are glowing in the candlelight, his lopsided grin never leaving his face. 

Outside there is a distinct commotion as their opponents invade the sanctity of the garden. The Revered Mother Giselle intercepts them quickly and is not amused in the slightest. Isabel’s eyes widen and she bites her lower lip when she hears snippets of conversation: “this is a place of reflection, people come here for refuge, the Inquisitor has many rare herbs and plants growing.” Bull’s deep voice mumbled an apology. Sera curses. “Acting like children, you should be ashamed…no, the commander and inquisitor are at morning prayers, you will not disturb them. Out, you are supposed to be examples…I said out!” They wait, and outside there is the crunch of snow as their opponents leave, defeated. Inside, Isabel is still biting her lower lip, Cullen’s hand is still on her hip, and his thumb tracing circles against her damp clothes. 

“You knew that would happen.” 

“Revered Mother’s and Chantry sisters are especially good at scolding and making you feel like a child again. Of course I knew it would happen.” Cullen looks especially pleased with himself; he looks younger, happy, and particularly smug. 

“Of course, you say. I thought you were the perfect example of a templar in training. I can’t imagine you were scolded very often.” Isabel can’t help but smirk right alongside him, running her fingers through his damp pauldrons until they link behind his neck. 

“No, not often, but there was this one time.” He pulls her closer, pressing her against the wall, hands splaying against her hips.“I got caught kissing a pretty girl in the chantry.” 

He covers her mouth with his before she can exclaim her disbelief. Her lips mold against his easily, quick and eager, a small hum rumbling in her chest when his hips press flush against hers. Cullen feels her tongue on his lip and he opens to her, welcoming the velvet press and taste. He runs his still gloved fingers up her sides, a feather light caress against breasts, and he feels rather than hears the small moan it pulls from her. He breaks the kiss, her lips are swollen and her face is flushed highlighting the dusting of light freckles against her cheeks. Cullen watches her as he drags a thumb against a clothed nipple, his scarred lip lifting in a lazy grin when she bites her lower lip. He runs his thumb against her lower lip, and breathes out sharply when her pink tongue darts out, followed by a playful nip of her teeth. He gropes her breasts rolling her nipples between his fingers, and Isabel squeezes her eyes closed and rolls her hips before opening them again, bright flint grey eyes watching him through lashes heavy with lust. He gives each breast one final squeeze, removing his hands slowly, enjoying the weight of them, before bringing the fingers of his leather gloves to his teeth, pulling them off. They fall to the ground with a wet thud, and his fingers burn trails against her skin. They’re followed shortly by his mouth nipping at her ears and neck his tongue tracing her collarbone. She whimpers her approval, running fingers through his hair, turning his head so she can gain access to his throat and ears.

“Aren’t there rules against this?” Isabel wonders, running cool fingers into the band of his pants, feeling skin, and hard muscle and soft hair before he pulled her fingers away, bringing them to his lips to kiss. 

“Actually, there aren't, I checked.” He twines her fingers with his, dropping his head to her jaw and neck, tongue and lips trailing a heated path. 

“Of course you did,”she moans teasing him. She pulls her hands away, finding his belt again, brushing the skin at his waist. 

Cullen chuckles into her mouth, and takes her hands firmly in his.

“That tickles.” His voice is low, warning her. 

Isabel smiles against his lips, and he nips at them before bringing both of her wrists above her head. He holds her with one hand, letting the other run through her hair, wisping across her neck, unclasping buttons until he sees the top of her breast band. He tugs at the band, loosening it to reveal the pale pink of her nipples, pebbled and hard from his ministrations. He runs his fingers over her naked flesh reverently, and she whispers his name like a prayer. He rolls his hips, letting her feel the hard bulge before pulling away to unlace the top of her trousers. He has his forehead against hers, and she’s looking up at him, her body taut as a bow string, licking her lips, breathing quickly, and she’s pulling against his grip every time he touches skin. He very slowly and deliberately brushes his knuckles against her clothed mound, testing the waters. Her mouth opens and a stuttering breath pulls through her lips. 

“Is this alright?” he whispers, warm breath puffing against her cheeks. He stills his hands and waits, unsure for a moment. Their physical relationship had been relatively tame up until this point;Isabel has run from him once before, afraid of getting involved. She doesn’t want him to doubt and brings her lips up to his, not quite a kiss, sliding her fevered skin against his. She inhaled his scent, which has mingled with the incense and candles of the chantry. 

“Yes, Cullen, it’s alright.” Isabel nods, the words barely audible. Cullen brushes his knuckles over her mound again, claiming her lips in a hungry kiss, dropping her hands so that he can cup her face, kissing her hard and touching her.  
Isabel finds the hand that is cupping her clothed sex. He’s rubbing her gently, teasing, barely any pressure and her hips move in tandem with his hand. She wants more, but her mouth can’t form words, so she interlaced her fingers with his, guiding his hand, slipping him into her pants, past her smalls. 

Cullen can feel her heat, and he’s moaning into her mouth when he feels how wet she is, her calloused fingers guiding his own, showing him exactly how she wants him to touch her. He circles her clit, and her legs buckle; he slides a thigh between hers and circles her clit again. Her free hand is pulling at the hair at the base of his skull, bringing him closer; she is angling her head to deepen the frantic kiss they’re sharing. He’s sliding his fingers through her wet folds until she pushes one of them into her, breaking the kiss when her head falls back. He slides his finger out, then in again, sucks her earlobe, nips at her neck while she bucks against his hand. 

Isabel can feel him rock against her, and she skims a finger over his clothed length. The kiss on her neck turns into a bite, sharp and painful, and his groan is urgent. She’s pulling his head away from her shoulder. She wants to taste the salt on his skin, she answers his bite with one of her own, marking him. He hisses a breath in through his teeth. Isabel’s fingers are shaking as they continue to guide Cullen’s hand. She pushes another one of his fingers inside of her, and stifles a loud keen against his pauldrons. She presses the heel of his hand down against her clit and grinds, wanton and needy.

“Maker.” Cullen groans and shifts, reaching deeper. He increases his pace and Isabel can only hold onto his wrist, letting him finish what she helped start. She comes undone around his fingers, coating his palm. 

Isabel wants to scream and moan. She knows she shouldn’t but can’t remember why; her clit and her cunt are pulsing staccatos and all she can do is ride the wave, squeezing her eyes shut, biting the fur around Cullen’s shoulders as pleasure takes hold. She’s shaking, white bursts breaking under her closed lids, a ragged cry ripping from her throat, muffled by the fur. She hangs onto him when her muscles relax, not able to stand on her own.

He pulls his hand from her pants, and tilts her head back so he can see her flushed face, her mouth open and panting. Her scent surrounds them and she is hyper-aware of his erection pressing hard against her hip. She watches through heavy lids as he brings his fingers to his lips and sucks, his eyes closing as he savors her taste. Her cheeks are burning when she pulls those same fingers towards her, running her tongue over them and tastes herself in turn. 

“You are a wicked woman, Isabel,” he groans out, his cock twitching against her as she sucks on his fingers.

“I daresay you’re worse than I am. After all, prayers should be made while kneeling.” Emboldened by his obvious need she slides down the wall, dragging his pants down as she goes, the cool air hitting his cock only briefly before her mouth is on him. 

“Isabel…we, should be getting back…we…should….” He swallows hard as her tongue swipes over the tip, catching the precum that’s beading at the head, tasting and teasing the tip before slowly taking more and more of him into her. He glances down and is met with her eyes, his cock between her lips, and achingly, teasingly she starts moving back and forth. She doesn’t look away, and her tongue is speaking of heaven against his cock . Cullen braces himself on the wall with both arms, resting his forehead on the cool brick, not daring to take his eyes off what Isabel is doing. 

He’s willing his hips to still, but she hums and slides her tongue just so, and he feels himself react, his hips move to meet her, and he locks his knees so they don’t buckle beneath him. She scratches pink lines against his thighs, fingers tracing his hips and squeezes his ass. He bucks into her again, earning another hum of approval. She scratches and squeezes him encouragingly and he thrusts into her mouth until he’s moving at the pace he needs. Her tongue never stops moving, pressing against his base, sliding in contrast to the rest of her mouth, and he can barely breathe. Her eyes flutter shut; he can feel her warm saliva slip down his balls, and her mouth is warmth and wetness, her tongue driving him mad. He dags a hand down to cup her face and touch her hair. Flint grey eyes open and stare up with adoration, and she moans around him, urging him on, and it sends him crashing into his climax with a strangled groan he can’t subdue. His fingers grip her short hair tightly as her wicked tongue and lips milk him, fingers squeezing hard against his ass, pulling him forward and deeper into her mouth. When she finally pulls away she’s breathing hard and smiling up at him; he’s soft and his entire body is shaking. He pulls her up to standing and kisses her. It’s slow and purposeful, and he can taste himself on her tongue and he growls into her mouth, her talented, evil, and perfect mouth. 

“You…are very good at that.” He laces his pants and pulls her to him, hugging her, brushing his lips against her ear. 

“You’re not the only one to get caught kissing in a chantry, Cullen.” She smiles at him, and with one final adjustment to her tunic pulls open the door. The air is cool, and they both hurry out of the garden, purposefully not making eye contact with the Revered Mother.  
They return to the courtyard, the melting snow turning the grounds into a muddy quagmire. Bull has the chargers and recruits doing joint drills. He gives them each a once over and shoots Isabel a look. 

“Morning prayers, huh? Right.” He smirks at both of them. Cullen clears his throat and looks away, and Isabel smiles despite herself. 

“Will I see you later? For dinner perhaps?” Cullen drops his voice, taking her fingers in his. 

“Dinner sounds perfect.” She gets on her toes and kisses his cheek, squeezing his fingers. He blushes but doesn’t pull away from the show of affection.

Cullen watches her go for a moment longer before schooling his face into that of the Commander of the Inquisition. He makes sure to work the recruits extra hard for their insubordination, regardless of how grateful he was for the distraction. 

Isabel hums the entire day, her cheeks aching from the unfamiliar smile.

**Author's Note:**

> My first smut offering. I'm nervous about this one, please leave a comment, I would love to know what you think!


End file.
